Not So Dreamy
by Wildhorses1492
Summary: Oh yeah, life in the Dre-eamhouse! Not. . . Barbie is penniless after spending all her money on gaudy clothes and overly-bling-y jewelry, not to mention all the toys and technology for her and her sisters; they've blown through the entire Roberts' fortune. Kelly and Stacey have been taken. . . probably dead. . . and Skipper is most likely dying. . . Can no one save them?
**Not So Dreamy**

The day was surprisingly cold for a day in Malibu. But it wasn't just cold weather-wise, it was cold in Barbie's heart. She watched as ten trucks filled with all her precious belongings rolled down the Dreamhouse drive and into the street. As the last one passed by, she jumped out and managed to snatch the train of a long gold cocktail dress off the trailer. At least she could have one thing from her former formal life! She held the dress lovingly to her chest. She had worn this when she and Ken went on their last date, before he was carted off too. . .

Skipper moaned, and Barbie's bittersweet reverie of the past was cut rudely short. She turned around to reprimand her sister about interrupting her train of empty thought, when she noticed the blue pallor of Skipper's face and the fact that she was slouching against the brick wall of Raquelle's house (they weren't allowed within fifty feet of the Dreamhouse and therefore had to stand in front of Raquelle's).

"What's _wrong_ with you?" Barbie demanded callously.

Skipper pressed a hand to her blue forehead. "I don't know, but it's probably bad. . . " she moaned, "probably the same thing the other two had." Skipper choked out the words in reference to their fallen sisters, who'd died after contracting deadly bouts of pneumonia in the frigid - surprisingly - November Malibu air.

Barbie cast her eyes around for a place to care for Skipper. Her eyes briefly settled upon Raquelle's house. No, she would die before staying in Raquelle and Ryan's mansion! Little self-obsessed snobs. . .

"Well," Barbie straightened, almost as if she had her old flair back, (the flair that comes with money and fame and lots of it) "There's only one thing left to do," she paused for dramatic effect, because she was Barbie. _Annnd_ that was all she had left. . . Skipper waited, moaning quietly. "We must recapture the Dreamhouse!" She pumped her fist in the air and tried to act like an inspiring general leading the troops to battle. She was the only functional troop of course, but still. . . !

"Great, Barbie! Um. . . how do you do it?" Skipper asked. "And preferably do it before that Shirtless Freak comes down the road, probably to kill us."

Barbie immediately flung her gaze up the road where she spotted a strange, long-haired shirtless man meandering down Dream-Life Lane. "Oh, God. All right, skip the planning: run!" Barbie reached down, yanked Skipper to her feet, and dashed across the road through the Dreamhouse gates; which, thankfully, were still unlocked because the Credit Card Company hadn't come back to repossess the keys. Yet. Sadly, the doors were. Barbie realized they had a problem.

"Um, Barbie. . . ."

"Shut up, I'm working on it! We'll get in here somehow!" Barbie rushed toward the boarded up windows of the first story with all the fury of a mad homeless woman. She began attacking the wood with her fingers. "Ah, I broke the last manicured nail!" She held up her hand gingerly, looking forlorn.

"Barbie, we don't have time for that, here he comes!" Skipper screamed. Weakly, she shuffled toward the windows, but fell at Barbie's feet. Her rheumy eyes lit up at the sight before her. "Barbie, your shoes! Use you shoes!" Skipper began molesting Barbie's feet.

Barbie kicked out as if Skipper were a deranged dog. "Skipper, what are you doing?!" She hopped a step away. She didn't remember this stage when the other two were sick. . .

Skipper continued to bat at the shoes. "YOUR SHOES, BARBIE! USE THEM TO CLAW THROUGH THE WOOD!"

Barbie finally looked down. "Ooh." She smiled as Skipper finally made sense. "I knew these six inches had to be good for something!" She stepped out of the shoes and began using them like pickaxes, fiendishly gouging the boards. The gate creaked seventeen yards behind them as the Shirtless Freak advanced.

"Barrrrbie!" Skipper tugged on her sister's ankle. "He's getting closer!"

"I've almost got it! Almost. . . There, I got it!" Barbie stood back triumphantly, holding her ruined shoes above her frizzy blonde perm, little wood chips raining down around her bare feet.

"No time for exultation, we've just gotta get in!" Skipper scrambled to her feet, using more energy in days than Barbie had seen. Jerking Barbie through the open window, they managed to close it just as the Shirtless Freak reached their previous position. Skipper slumped to the floor while Barbie furtively glanced around her former residence. It was quite hideously bare of all her tasteless furniture. She didn't like it.

"Where is Ken when I need him to build me another Jacuzzi?" Barbie grumbled, edging herself farther into the house as if expecting ghosts of her former life to pop out at any second.

"Mhyooonnn," Skipper moaned from her place on the floor. Barbie hurried back to her.

"Moon? Is that a secret code I don't remember?" Barbie lightly slapped her sister's face. "Skipper, I need to know more!" She stared intently at her sister's now-flushed face. Hadn't it been blue a bit back? Oh well. . . diseases work in mysterious ways. Barbie wasn't a doctor, she didn't know! Wait. . . or wasn't she?

"Myyyyy rooooooooooooom," Skipper tried again weakly. How had Barbie been famous this long? She was an airhead - she was clueless and stupid - she knew nothing! She though 'my room' was a secret code! Someone needed to slap her sister. It wasn't going to be her, and it was never going to be Ken; he was finished.

"I know, we'll go to your room! I _think_ it's the seventy-first door on the second floor. . ." Barbie pulled a pink pocket flashlight from her pocket, hefting the golden cocktail dress closer. She was going to change into this thing the first bathroom she came to. "Skipper, can you walk still? It's only a couple dozen yards or so." Barbie moved off determinedly.

 _ **Two and a Half Hours Later**_

"Is this your door? I thought for sure this was your door!" Barbie looked confused. Now that she was in the golden cocktail dress, she only looked stupid. She'd changed into it almost an hour ago, though it felt like a lifetime, Skipper decided.

"You thought this was 'my room' eighty-seven doors ago!" Skipper mumbled tiredly. She was starting to feel cold. And really, really sick.

Barbie shrugged as if it was a small complication. She then smiled her dazzling Barbie-can-do-it-all smile. "We'll just have to keep walking, then!" She began trotting off - with a slight limp since she'd ruined her heels - while Skipper leaned weakly against the rose and fuchsia pink paisley wall.

"Barbie, if I walk anymore, I'm gonna die earlier than Chelsea did. This room is good enough!" Skipper fell against the door with grim determination, and it opened under her weight. As she lay languishing on the floor, Barbie stepped over her to peer into the room, which was lit with light from the un-boarded second-story windows. There was a ratty couch that the Creditors clearly had deemed unsaleable, a ragged blanket, and a few broken pieces of some chairs. Nothing else. _Nothing Else._ Why was all that remained of her once sparkling pink life a pile of broken chairs and a disgusting, more-tasteless-than-her-bad-taste couch and a blanket? This was not the way it was supposed to be.

"Oh, how cruel thou art, emotionless and grim Life!" Barbie lamented dramatically. Skipper crawled past her, dragging her legs that now felt as if they weighed more than the Leaning Tower of Pisa probably did.

"Barbie, no time for dramatics. Just let me on the couch!" As Skipper arranged herself slowly and carefully onto the couch, Barbie began looking around for something, but she had no idea what she was looking for. "Barbie, don't you think we should, you know, get some publicity? Maybe we could get your fans to help us if they knew we were living in squalor and that Chelsea and Stacey had died of illness because the Credit Card Company took our warm house from us and turned us out into the cold?"

Barbie stopped as if she'd been slammed into by a Mack truck. "Yes! We should call someone who can then call someone else, who can then call someone _else,_ who can then call the camera people! But I have no phone!" Even though she stated a critical error in the plan, she still had a mega-watt smile on her face. "I'm brilliant, Skip!" Barbie hurried off. Skipper fell back against the stained cushions. She'd never thought it would've ended this way, but she was grateful to finally be getting out of Barbie's unknowing clutches.

 ** _Another Two Hours and a Half Later_**

"I did it! I found a phone in my old closet and called the Credit Card Company - it was the only number I could remember beside's Ken's, which is disconnected. I also found some old food!" Barbie held out the food in an exuberant fashion - as if she was holding out a check that had a million dollars on it. Frankly, Skipper would rather have the million dollars than the old potato chips and baggie of beef jerky Barbie excitedly shook around in her face.

"I can make soup!" She turned away.

"With what?" Skipper was seriously beginning to doubt Barbie had ever done anything she'd said she had. It had to have been super-amazing acting on her sister's part. Oh, she'd done it! She'd been trying to figure out what Barbie was good at. That was it: acting and clothes shopping. Not to mention driving Ryan crazy and getting Ken dragged off. Those poor guys.

"Oh, Barbie, when's the film crew coming?" She weakly lifted her head, feeling incredibly ill.

"Film crew? Why do we need to have a film crew? The secretary at the Credit Card Company said all we'd need was the one guy. Ted, or, um, Ted, or . . . something."

Skipper rolled her eyes, lowering her head back on to the couch, suddenly she jerked back up. "You called the _Credit Card Company_ about a film crew to come save us?!"

"Yes. I didn't know any other numbers. You should try doing that without a cell phone sometime!" Barbie began arranging her skirt carefully.

"I know all the numbers of your once-personal crew by heart. I had to because you couldn't seem to schedule shootings properly."

"Skip, I have never, ever, wanted to shoot people! You should've learned by now that I am a no guns, no violence, only pink and rainbows and flowers advocate. I can't believe you've taken so long to get that!" Barbie shook her frizzy head. Skipper just moaned low in her throat and decided not to waste her last few breaths on Barbie's blonde-stupidity. Not that she was judging blondes by her sister! She was just judging Barbie. . . by Barbie.

 ** _Two Weeks Later_**

So, this was the place? Stan got out of his beat-up van and began assembling his camera. This had better be good. But he knew from experience that these once-famous-now-no-more characters usually were dull, 'I need money to continue my lavish and totally inappropriate lifestyle,' airheads.

"I need a better job," he muttered as he hefted his camera and began walking toward the massive pink-painted front doors.

Before he could even knock, they flew open. Was this lady waiting for him? Yeesh, that was bordering on stalker-creepy.

"Are you the camera guy coming to film about the fact that we desperately deserve support because we're poor now? Of course you are, you've got that big camera on your shoulder!" She sounded absolutely off her rocker. Fantastic. Another nutcase to film. What was with his company? Did they _really_ expect him to keep working for them after the hundredth clothes-puller or arm-clinger? Yes, yes they did. Hell, he needed to be paid some more.

"Okay, lady, I'm gonna start rolling, all right? You just go ahead with your speech or whatever you've got set up for this thing, K?" He waited patiently for her to start screeching into the camera, but she just stood there. "Lady, are you gonna get going? I'm rolling and I've got places to be and freakish debtors to film." She just looked at him as if he'd spoken Martian. Great, she really was as retarded as he'd first suspected.

"Anyway," she waved her hands above her head as if she was trying to clear dust from the air. "Hi!" she looked at the camera with a slightly I-can't-do-this-much-longer-before-I-break-down grimace-smile. He loathed those types. "Welcome to the final episode of _Barbie Life in the Dreamhouse_. Only, it's not so dreamy right now." They began walking down a long hallway and then up some stairs. Jiminny Cricket, how gigantic was this freak's mansion? Finally they entered a door and came to some druggie lying on a couch.

He'd known it from the beginning. Of course this was a drug den.

"This is my sister, her name is . . . Skipper. She's dying of pneumonia because we got kicked out of our house and we just had to break through the bars on the windows to get back in." The lady looked like she was kinda emotionally spent. "We had to do it with our fingernails and the heels of our high heels. They're not looking very good now." She held a shoe up in front of the camera. He had a feeling this was going to be a looong shoot.

 _ **Barbie's p.o.v.**_

"Oh dear! Okay, so. We- we need help. And not mentally." She was remembering what people said when they were trying to prove that they weren't insane. That was what they said to ensure their sanity, right? It had to be. Anyway, she'd already said it. "I got in really bad trouble with the Credit Card Company. Who knew those people were so mean? I mean, I'm Barbie!" Really, how could they do all this to her?! She was friggin' BARBIE! She lived in the pink mansion and was a role-model for girls everywhere! Who cares about credit?

"Seriously, they were really mean. . . I need- I need help. NOT MENTALLY. Okay, look, they took everything. So any donations that we ask for, you have to send, right? Cause you're, like, my fans. So, shall I inform you of every little thing they took?" She glanced at the Sarcastic Cameraman. Why had the Credit Card Company sent this rude guy of all people? He probably was a pink hater!

 **"** Whatever, Lady. I'm runnin' out of time, I got a few other things to do today." He shifted the camera on his shoulder as if it were growing heavier by the minute. She frowned just a little.

 **"** You know I'm the most important thing on your list you darn cameraman; I could fire you and hire-! I. . . can't. I'm broke." Her sudden realization was mentally disturbing. How could SHE be broke? She was amazing! She was Pink! She was Barbie!

"Anyway, thank you, dearie. Let's just go downstairs." She walked down the stairs, but forgot to pick up the train of her golden cocktail dress that she had slept on the floor in for the past weeks. She was going to give the poor dress a careful cleaning when she had her money back. The poor thing deserved some recognition for making her look like money even thought she was skint broke. She fell the last five steps because she failed to hold her train up.

"Ow!" She lay in a heap at the bottom, waiting for the Sarcastic Cameraman to help her up like her old crew always had if she'd gotten hurt somehow. It never happened, he just walked by her as if she had melted into the think pink microfiber-carpet.

Carefully, she clambered to her feet. Fine, she could get up on her own! She didn't need Ted's help. The Sarcastic Cameraman was walking toward the hard-wood floored living room. "And this is the living room. They even took the rug!" She stared at the floor, and then realized how utterly terrible this was. How could someone be so mean to her?! "They took everything!" She fell to the floor, ugly sobs wrenching their way from her perma-pink-lip-sticked mouth.

Finally, she got herself back together. Her fans could not think poverty had made her lose it. She was amazing! No matter the state of her bank account, she was Barbie, and she had fans willing to do anything for her! Right. . . ? She blocked the seed of doubt from her mind. "Let's go to the kitchen." Hurriedly she crossed the room and went out into the hallway. Wait, where exactly was kitchen? Oh, oh, she knew!

She ushered the Sarcastic Cameraman Ted in before her so he could get a nice big picture of the empty room. Had they really taken the stove too? Suddenly, she noticed something on the floor! "They left a rug _here!_ But they took everything else. . . Nothing else is left!" Discrediting her statement was a rather nicer-than-her-preferences cabinet Ken had made her. She ruthlessly kicked it out of the camera's view to keep her point proven.

"Let's go back upstairs to my poor, dying sister." Hurriedly she left the room, hoping that the Sarcastic Cameraman didn't see the cabinet. Carefully, they went back upstairs. She was not going to trip this time! She was sure that Sarcastic Cameraman Ted would only film the entire thing and do nothing to help her. Of course! It was so hard to find good help these days. . .

Finally, they returned to the room. Why was Ken not here to help her with Skipper? Ken! Where was he now? Probably being tested or whatever they do in those dark dungeons where they held debtors. "You know they even took Ken?" She decided to voice her outrage at this unfairness. "Because, apparently, he's one of my accessories!" She walked over to her sister. Skip was turning blue in the face again. "He's now in federal jail. . . Whatever!" It didn't matter! "Dying somewhere. . . " She would have to soldier on without him, he was gone! Not that she ever needed Ken. . . Was he _really_ only an accessory? No! She needed him to make everything in her life easier.

She looked down at Skipper's face; it was a picture of ill serenity. Eyes closed. Wait, was she not breathing?! Oh, she was still alive. . . Barbie reached down, putting her arms around her and grabbing her close. "Please live; hold on!" She turned concerned eyes on Sarcastic Cameraman Ted. Had her pitiful life rendered him emotional enough to give her some much-needed aid? "Cameraman, do you know any doctors? Please, do you know any doctors?!" She was getting desperate. "Any doctors that would work for free?!"

He only seemed mildly annoyed that she had cried out to him for help. Shifting the camera higher into his shoulder, he muttered something under his breath. Then, he said, "I work for the credit card company, I can sue you for trying to impinge upon a neutral party. So let's hurry it up, 'cause I got other things in life I gotta tend to."

 **"** Yeah, I'm sure." He was just trying to keep from admitting his heartfelt concern for her and her sister. She began muttering heavily as she worked over her sister's body, trying to make poor, fevered Skipper more comfortable on the entirely _un-_ comfortable couch. Absently, she straightened and moved away, turning back to peer into the camera. "What do you think of my beautiful gold dress? Its the last thing I have left. I managed to salvage it off the trucks as they were leaving." She paused, thoughtful. "I also got my earrings back.

 **CAMERAMAN: . . .** I'll be right back.

 **BARBIE:** Oh no, we need help! * **looks like she's thinking quickly** * Look, there's like this . . . _guy_ . . . and he keeps comin' around; he wont, like, leave us alone. Hold on, let me go look out there and see if he's still there. * **goes to porch and looks out over the street** * * **comes back** * He is. He's still there. You wanna see him; should I let him in?

 **CAMERAMAN:** Yeah, 'll look good on film.

 **BARBIE:** What?! I'm. . . gonna go let him in. *runs out to porch* HEY! YOU CAN COME IN NOW! *thumping noises as man enters house and pounds upstairs* Oh Dear Lord. *Barbie whispers* He's coming in! *shirtless man enters, panting heavily from exertion*

 **Shirtless Man: *casual and slightly friendly*** Hiya.

 **BARBIE: *Barbie screams horribly loudly*** STAY AWAY FROM MY SISTER, YOU IDIOT! * **shirtless man only glanced at dying sister** *

 **SHIRTLESS MAN:** I wasn't near her. * **looks slightly nervous now** *

 **BARBIE:** * **lunges toward man** * GET OFF OF HER! I AM GOING TO SEND YOU OUT THE WINDOW, YOU FART! * **shirtless man begins backing away** * WHY DID I EVEN LET YOU IN?

 **SHIRTLESS MAN: "** Because I was all alone out there and I have no shirt and it's cold." * **continues backing away** * * **cameraman laughing hysterically** *

 **BARBIE: "** Shut up, Cameraman!" * **turns to the camera** * "Look what you did to my sister!" *l **ooks back at sister who is sleeping peacefully** * "You scared her, and now she's going to die from your manic laughter! You sound like the Joker on steroids. Not that he was ever _not_ on steroids. . ."

 **CAMERAMAN: "** I'm sorry, but we gotta cut this short, the camera is dyin' and I need to charge it. Byeeee." * **looks mildly relieved to be escaping mad Barbie** * * **shirtless man looks after cameraman** *

 **SHIRTLESS MAN: "** I'm gonna go with him." * **points to cameraman and begins jogging after him down the stairs** *

 **BARBIE:** * **begins weeping ugly again** * "Does no one understand the meaning of loyalty on reality shows anymore?" * **glances back toward still as death sister** * "Oh, GOD, my sister is **_dead!_** She's died of pneumonia! This is the last of the _Dream House_. . . . I can feel my strength failing. . . I am doomed! The name of _Barbie_ is doomed! Oh, Ken, why am I all alone? Darn, you're not here. . . I need answers! I need help. . . Even if it's from a shirtless freak and a sarcastic cameraman! My dead sisters are dead. . . My empire is falling around my ears and my unusable plastic thumbs. . . It's over, I see the light! Kelly, Stacey, Skipper, is that you?" * **Barbie reaches toward the ceiling** *

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Sooo. . . I got bored there at the end and left it in format; basically how it is in the video my brother and little sisters made. I dunno, it's just too funny _not_ to share with everyone. I know I should finish it out better, but perhaps I'll do that someday. It's been in my document manager for a long while now, and I've just decided to forget everything and post it. **

**Hope it's enjoyably hilarious,**

 **WH**


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